


Going South

by ayumie



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-07
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayumie/pseuds/ayumie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This time there was no big fight – only a hissed curse and the clang of a frozen lighter.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://lea724.livejournal.com/profile)[**lea724**](http://lea724.livejournal.com/) and [](http://rulistenin14.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rulistenin14.livejournal.com/)**rulistenin14** for betaing. Post X-3, so I guess minor spoiler warning. Feedback would make my day!

TITLE: Going South  
AUTHOR: [](http://ayumie.livejournal.com/profile)[**ayumie**](http://ayumie.livejournal.com/)  
RATING: NC-17  
PAIRING: John/Bobby  
SUMMARY: _This time there was no big fight – only a hissed curse and the clang of a frozen lighter._  
NOTES: Thanks to [](http://lea724.livejournal.com/profile)[**lea724**](http://lea724.livejournal.com/) and [](http://rulistenin14.livejournal.com/profile)[**rulistenin14**](http://rulistenin14.livejournal.com/) for betaing. Post X-3, so I guess minor spoiler warning. Feedback would make my day!

**Going South**

Iceman found Pyro two weeks after Alcatraz. For someone who considered himself street smart, he wasn’t all that good at hiding. Or perhaps it was that lying low had never really been his thing. He hadn’t even left San Francisco. This time there was no big fight – only a hissed curse and the clang of a frozen lighter.

*

Almost 15 hours later, John opened his eyes and saw … wooden walls. His head hurt like hell and instinctively he reached for his wrist lighters, only to find them gone. Panic rising, he groped through his pockets for his Zippo, needing the reassurance of his flames. But the Zippo wasn’t there and neither were his matches and this was all wrong, because he never went anywhere without his lighter and where the fuck was he anyway?!  
Slowly, very slowly, he sat up and took stock of his surroundings. No furniture except for the bed he was lying on, a wooden closet and a chair in one of the corners. Two doors and narrow windows, too small to fit through. Even more disconcerting, when he propped himself up to get a glimpse of what was outside, he saw nothing but trees. John took a deep breath. It didn’t help, not really. He tried to figure out what had happened, but all he could really think about right now was that the door would be locked and he was trapped without even his fire for comfort. Then he remembered. He had been in a hotel. He had fought … Bobby, and there had to be a connection somewhere, and, God, he needed to piss.  
His body moved agonizingly slowly, but he managed. The first door was locked. Fuck. The second opened to a bathroom, thank God. A toilet, a sink and a shower booth, and it wasn’t much, but, hell, at this rate he should probably be glad that it wasn’t a bucket.  
His most basic needs taken care of, John realized just how badly he needed to sit back down. Head spinning, he pressed his back against the wall. So he didn’t have any idea what was going on. At least it didn’t look like the police had caught up with him. Or the X-men, except that Bobby’s face was on top of his mind, and how fucked up was that? Bobby took care of other people, made sure everybody was okay and worried about them to the point of fretting. He most certainly didn’t knock former friends out and lock them into what looked like the Little House on the Prairie, even if they did try to fry him and there had to be some sort of reasonable explanation. Shape-shifters, maybe.

Suddenly his eyes fell on a couple of bags he had somehow managed to overlook until now. John groaned and struggled back to his feet. No time like now to figure things out. He spent the next minutes rooting through the bags, unearthing sandwiches, a toothbrush, a change of clothes, and, holy fucking shit, were those his school books?! It had to be Bobby after all, because who else would think to include those? He could totally see it, too: what does a prisoner need? Food, drink, fresh underwear and, yes, algebra books. John groaned again, but somehow he was feeling better already. Bobby. He could deal with Bobby.

*

Bobby was standing in front of the door and breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. Still locked. He didn’t think that anybody had followed him and, unless he had developed a whole new set of powers, Pyro definitely wasn’t up to freeing himself, but he had still been half-afraid to find the other boy gone.  
Silence greeted him as he entered the room. Pyro was sitting in a corner, chin up, sullen glare firmly in place. Bobby leaned his backpack against the wall and wondered whether he should ask if he was all right, but decided against it. He probably wouldn’t like the answer anyway.

“Fuck you.”

In fact, it had been quite some time since he had liked anything coming out of Pyro’s mouth. Bobby sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. After a few minutes of silence, Pyro obviously couldn’t take it anymore.

“So what the fuck do you think you are doing?”

Bobby opened his mouth, only to quickly close it again. The truth was, he didn’t really know. He was sure of one thing, though. He couldn’t let Pyro go free, knowing that he’d hurt – kill – people.  
The problem was, he couldn’t bring himself to hand him over either, because no matter what his teachers told him, the last year had taught him a few things about enforced cures and secret government labs. And, no, he hadn’t said anything about all the others, but this wasn’t just any mutant terrorist, this was the mutant terrorist who had once been John and perhaps his motives weren’t all that noble. Perhaps Pyro wasn’t the only one who had changed.  
The temperature was dropping and, nails biting into his palm, Bobby fought the urge to run back outside. Memories of Alcatraz were flashing in front of his mind’s eye and funny how back then it had kind of been all right, but he hadn’t been able to sleep a single night through ever since.  
In the end, Bobby just sat down, careful to stay out of the other boy’s immediate reach. He didn’t want to have to freeze anything if Pyro tried something stupid. Besides, John had always fought dirty. An aggravated sigh and John had never been comfortable with silences.

“How’s school?”

The question was almost cordial. Bobby wanted to say that things weren’t the same, what with all the loss and death and the absence of telepaths and wise old men who always knew what was best, and, hey, on this point at least, Pyro might be able to commiserate. It hurt too much, though. After everything else that had happened, why did it still hurt?

“That’s it. Enough with the silent treatment. I’m getting out of here.”

And Pyro had to know that it wouldn’t work that way, that even if Bobby hadn’t locked the door, there was no chance in hell he’d let him escape. But Pyro wouldn’t be Pyro if he didn’t at least try and within seconds he was on his feet, only that Bobby was faster, grabbing the other boy’s wrist and slamming him into the wall and, hey, five years of self-defense classes actually were good for something. The only problem was that now he was pressing up against Pyro, Pyro who smelled like John. But this wasn’t John, not in the way that counted, and perhaps that thought was all that kept him sane. Not John, not John, not Johnny and-

“You tried to kill me!”

Pyro was struggling, hissing his anger, but Bobby wasn’t letting go.

“So what?! You’re with them!”

Only that wasn’t the whole truth and they both knew it. And suddenly it was all about Pyro’s mouth, John’s mouth, and Bobby had been hard for what felt like forever. It was all coming back, making out in empty classrooms, sneaking away to jerk off together, or, God, being alone in their room after lights out. Pyro’s free hand was clawing at his shirt, alternately pulling him closer and trying to push him away. Head spinning, Bobby finally had to break the kiss, teeth dragging across that full lower lip. Pyro was staring at him, eyes wide, dark.

“You’re fucking sick, Drake.”

And maybe he was, but he could feel Pyro hard against his thigh, hear the excitement in his voice, so he figured that he wasn’t the only one. His hand snuck beneath the hem of the other boy’s shirt, finding a nipple and starting to pinch-twist-pinch-pull in the sequence that had always seemed to drive John wild. Pyro shuddered and Bobby smiled against his neck.  
He knew all about what John liked, partly from experience and partly from what Rogue had told him back when they had thought that honesty was the way to save their failing relationship. Bobby still hadn’t figured out why she had chosen that particular topic to be honest about, but right now he didn’t care.

The mattress was only a few feet away and it was no problem at all to push the smaller boy in its general direction. Another kiss, a brief shove and Pyro was sprawled in front of him, all spread legs and sullen glare. Bobby toed off his shoes, not giving himself any time to think. He needed – no, he deserved this, and Pyro deserved … worse. He could still hear the screams of the people in that clinic. Bobby pulled off his T-shirt. Then he was on top of the other boy, pinning him, and he had always been stronger than John, only now it was out in the open. Pyro was shifting restlessly, not quite fighting him, but not quite acquiescing either. It felt good. His fingers once more closed around a slim wrist, squeezing tightly enough to hurt. When he closed his eyes he could feel flames beating against him.  
Bare skin was showing where John’s old T-shirt had ridden up, radiating a different kind of heat, the good kind. Bobby reached out, just nails and fingertips, hitching the T-shirt further up as he went. He found a nipple and leaned down to suck it, lips cold enough to produce a stifled curse. Harsh fingers dug into his shoulder and Pyro’s hips were lifting to rub against his thigh. Bobby moaned. He had missed this, missed John, in a way that didn’t bear thinking about.  
Pyro was wearing the pair of loose sweatpants he had brought him yesterday, all soft, worn-out fabric and easy accessibility, and Bobby needed skin now. Getting their pants off wasn’t easy, mostly because he couldn’t, wouldn’t take the time to get up to do so. They ended up wriggling and kicking and rubbing against each other, and it was so worth it, because as soon as the last article of clothing came off, Bobby was there. Chest against chest, limbs entangled, feeling familiar warmth seep into his body. It almost wasn’t sexual, or rather, it wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for the fact that they were both desperately hard. For a moment Bobby closed his eyes and burrowed closer, face hidden in the bend of John’s neck.

“What’s the matter, Iceman? Getting cold feet?”

There was scorn in Pyro’s voice, scorn and bitter laughter. Bobby felt like cursing. Instead he reached for his discarded jeans, finding the small bottle of lube he’d been carrying around with him, and he hadn’t been planning this, he really, really hadn’t. He managed to squeeze some of the slick gel onto his fingers.  
Bobby pushed himself, creating enough space to wedge a hand between their bodies. He brushed a hard cock and both of them groaned. Then his fingers found Pyro’s hole and slipped in, first one, then two. A few twisting, scissoring motions later and Pyro’s whimper told him that this was the right angle, the one that had always rendered John helpless, unable to do anything but moan and beg and shiver. Of course back then, he had thought that it was just him. Now Bobby wondered how many people in the brotherhood had found out how easy Pyro was. He quickly banished that thought.  
Thumb tracing the crease where thigh met torso, Bobby pushed his fingers in as far as they would go. He was losing it. He could feel his temperature plummet, body tensing as he struggled to regain control, and, God, he used to be better than this. Suddenly afraid that it’d be over all too soon, he pulled away. More lube and considering how he was feeling right now, Bobby was pretty sure that Pyro’s proximity was all that kept it from freezing in spot. He positioned himself and thrust once, hard. Not enough.  
Pyro was moaning his name, “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby” dragged from his pretty mouth like some kind of dirty secret. Something jerked low in Bobby’s stomach and he was thrusting in time with those groans, biting his lip to keep the ice at bay. Pyro’s eyes were open, looking at him, and, God, those were Johnny’s eyes, all lost and feverish and so full of … something. And just like that Bobby was lost, too, hips working harder, mouth next to John’s ear, and gonna fuck you, Johnny, gonna fuck you so hard…  
John’s cock was trapped against his stomach, and he pressed down, adding to the friction. It couldn’t last, didn’t last. The moment he heard John’s strangled cry, felt him tense, Bobby came. It was perfect heat.

When he regained his wits, John was struggling out from under him, scooting back until he was stopped by the wall. He was staring, clearly unnerved. Bobby looked right back, eyes wide, serious. He finally knew what to say.

“I’ve got money and a car,” he blurted out and, God, said aloud, it sounded even worse than in his head.

“Good for you. What’cha do? Rob a bank?”

John’s voice was studiously indifferent, another sign of how shaken he was. Bobby smiled, half-embarrassed.

“Trust-fund. My grandparents set it up to– That’s not the point. We can go anywhere you want, I don’t care. I … I told them I saw you being hit with the cure. Nobody will be looking for you – us.”

Bobby willed the other boy to listen, to hear what he wasn’t saying. John was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. He would have to see…

“I guess telling you to go fuck yourself wouldn’t do any good.”

“Not really. I’m not letting you go.”

And he wasn’t. John turned away, eyes fixed stubbornly on the wall.

“Fine, then. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Bobby, too, understood what wasn’t being said: ‘You hurt me, bastard, and one good fuck isn’t going to make things right. You’ve got me backed into a corner, but don’t think that I’m giving up. One wrong move and I’ll kick your ass.’

It was enough. Later he’d tell John all about his decision to leave the school, about Marie and what her loss of power had done to all of them. Maybe they’d even talk about Alcatraz and the Brotherhood. But there’d be plenty of time for that.

*

John pressed his cheek against the cool glass of the car window. The landscape was flying by, mile after mile of coast, punctuated by the occasional gas station. He had given up trying to find a decent radio station two hours ago. They were heading south, no clear destination. John thought it was nicely symbolic. And at least wherever they ended up wouldn’t hold any bad memories.  
John’s fingers were itching for his Zippo. What with Bobby constantly hovering at his side like an overexcited watchdog, he hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet. He clasped his left hand in his right the way he had always done when Magneto had told him to stop fidgeting. At least he could feel the heat of the motor, the explosive potential of the gas tank just behind him.  
It had taken him a while to figure out how Bobby was justifying this whole thing to himself. To give him credit, he even made sense, in a way. In his mind he was still fighting the good fight, still doing his part to support the team, by making sure that John didn’t cause any more trouble.  
John wondered whether he realized that the argument cut both ways. They had always canceled each other out. It didn’t really matter whether it happened on the battlefield or of it. A small smile was tugging on John’s lips. He thought that Magneto would be proud of him.

With a grin he turned back to Bobby, who was keeping his eyes on the road like a good, law-abiding citizen. John resolved that in the afternoon he would drive. But first there’d be some payback for last night. Much as he liked this new and improved version of Bobby Drake, he had a reputation to uphold. John sat up straighter, pointing ahead.

“Hey, there’s a restaurant coming up. Stop there, will you? I’m hungry.”

 

The End


	2. A World Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was so easy to be lulled into forgetting everything that had happened, everything he had been. He blamed Bobby._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Going South](http://community.livejournal.com/dry_ice/185157.html#cutid1), because people were asking for one. Not sure how it turned out, but there you go. Thanks to [](http://lea724.livejournal.com/profile)[**lea724**](http://lea724.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hisoka44.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hisoka44.livejournal.com/)**hisoka44** for betaing.

TITLE: A World Away  
AUTHOR: [](http://ayumie.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ayumie.livejournal.com/)**ayumie**  
RATING: NC-17  
PAIRING: John/Bobby  
SUMMARY: _It was so easy to be lulled into forgetting everything that had happened, everything he had been. He blamed Bobby._  
NOTES: Sequel to [Going South](http://community.livejournal.com/dry_ice/185157.html#cutid1), because people were asking for one. Not sure how it turned out, but there you go. Thanks to [](http://lea724.livejournal.com/profile)[**lea724**](http://lea724.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hisoka44.livejournal.com/profile)[**hisoka44**](http://hisoka44.livejournal.com/) for betaing.

It was frighteningly easy to get used to it all – to sleeping trapped between Bobby’s body and the wall, to living off McDonald’s and ice cream and being able to touch cool flesh whenever he wanted. They never made it to Mexico. It had started innocently enough with John wanting to spend a day at the beach and stopping at San Diego. True to form, Bobby had ended up chatting with some granny and, before John could do anything to fuck it up, they had been offered to stay in the tiny guest apartment above her garage.  
Even though, he had to admit that it was a nice change after all those nights they had spent either in their car or in cheap motel rooms. And better still, for the first time since they had set out, neither space nor pesky neighbours were a consideration. That night he had made Bobby scream himself hoarse.  
After a week, they bought a TV, small enough to be considered portable. After two weeks, Bobby insisted they pay rent and started to make noises about buying a bigger fridge. John put his foot down on that one, though. A TV was one thing, but a fridge big enough to accommodate Bobby’s lust for ice cream would imply a permanence he wasn’t ready to concede. After three weeks, he used a fake driver’s license to get an ID for the local library. They got the fridge two days later. And a barbecue. When Miss Ruth smiled her old woman smile and allowed them to put it up in her garden, John decided that he didn’t hate her.  
It was so easy, so tempting, to just let himself be lulled into forgetting everything that had happened, everything he had _been_. He blamed Bobby, Bobby who had undergone yet another startling transformation and was being so nice, so fucking _considerate_ , it made John want to scream. Perversely it also made him push all the harder. But no matter how mean he got, all Bobby would do was smile or, even worse, kiss him. There was no defence against that.

 

That morning, he woke to teeth nipping at his earlobe, hard enough to be interesting. Bobby was speaking against his neck and, morning person that he was, he sounded awake and cheerful.

“Want me to suck your cock, Johnny?”

And boy, did he ever. Still half-asleep, John obligingly rolled onto his back. Bobby’s mouth was slick and water-cool and he whimpered, hips twitching like they wanted to thrust but couldn’t quite manage.  
He was still pleasantly adrift, aware of nothing but the sensations Bobby was evoking. The dream he’d been having had been a good one and orgasm was close. Soon his muscles were tightening all over and John whined, throwing his head back as pleasure swallowed him whole.

John opened his eyes with what he just knew was a stupid grin plastered over his face. For just one moment, the only thing on his mind was that it was worth it. Waking up to this every morning was worth just about anything he could think of.  
Bobby moved up for a kiss and tasting himself on those lips never got old. John stretched, wondering if it would be very bad bedroom etiquette to just go back to sleep. But Bobby was throwing clothes at him, like, couldn’t he give a guy a few minutes to get his bearings?

They spent most of that day helping one of Miss Ruth’s friends clear out her attic, Bobby doing all the lifting and carrying and John perching on an antique coffee table and giving what he considered helpful advice. Bobby still didn’t like to leave him alone, probably got off on playing his keeper, so whenever his altruistic tendencies got the better of him, John was along for the ride. What he didn’t seem to get was that, for some fucked up reason, he refused to look at more closely, John didn’t want to escape. Not that it would have been all that difficult. Only spending the rest of his life on the run from Bobby Drake of all things would be too pathetic to contemplate.  
On the way home, they bought cake to eat later, the chocolate one they both liked and that looked so unhealthy it made an early death by heart attack seem like a distinct possibility. It was so worth the risk.

Some part of John had always known that things were going too smoothly, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when the axe chose to fall on 5:30 in the afternoon of a perfect day. Not in a million years, though, would he have expected it to do so in the form of Kitty Pryde. He was even smiling when he opened the fucking door.  
For a moment John looked at Kitty’s phased form, heard the noises of the stupid game show Bobby was watching. Then, without a word, he turned and walked into their tiny bathroom. He locked the door, lowered the lid of the toilet, sat down and had a panic attack. His mind was broken. All he could think was whywhywhy and how and if Bobby had called her, he was going to fucking kill him. John’s stomach was heaving the way it had that time in the Blackbird and instinctively his fingers clenched around his new Zippo. Bobby had given it to him once he realized that short of locking him up for real there was no way to keep John from his fire, what with God knew how many million smokers in the States alone. It had taken him less than a minute to find the letters RD engraved on the bottom. For all the implications, he might as well have tattooed his name onto John’s ass.

He didn’t move until he heard Kitty’s footsteps leave and the sound of a car rolling down their street. Bobby was lying on the bed, their bed, facing the wall. John sat down next to him, careful not to touch. Not until he knew where he stood.

“Should I make it easy for you and just leave?”

Drawing a sharp breath, Bobby rolled over and clenched his fingers into the worn fabric of John’s shirt.

“No!”

He pressed his forehead against John’s thigh.

“The professor is back. He … actually I’m not sure what happened, but he is at the school right now. They used Cerebro. That’s how they found us.”

John stared at his hands, afraid to ask. They’d want Bobby to come back. Of course they would.

“She … she just wanted to see if I was all right. God, John, the cure doesn’t work. Mystique escaped. It’s … it’s all starting again.”

Even worse, they would _need_ Bobby back now. And Bobby was such a pushover they’d eventually succeed. With Cerebro in action there was nothing they could do, nowhere they could run, unless they went and stole Magneto’s helmet of doom and wouldn’t that mean opening a whole different can of worms. He should have told Bobby it was Jehovah’s Witnesses and burned Kitty on the spot. Provided whatever she turned into when she was non-corporal even could be burned. It probably wouldn’t have helped in the long run, but, fuck, he’d be feeling better right now. Burn something. He needed to burn something.

“Are they going to come for you?”

Belatedly he realized that Bobby was still talking to him.

“I- who?” he managed intelligently.

“Mystique. The Brotherhood. M-Magneto.”

Oh.

“I don’t know. Maybe. They won’t give us any trouble, though. As long as we stay out of their way.”

Bobby looked like he didn’t believe him. John didn’t elaborate. He never talked about the Brotherhood, not about the things that mattered, but something else was tugging at his mind, something about the cure and-

“Rogue.”

She’d be back as well. Bobby had said that they had been falling apart anyway, that her taking the cure had merely been the last straw, but John _knew_. Bobby liked dangerous things and where relationships were concerned, they didn’t come any more dangerous than Rogue. He really, really needed to burn something just about now.  
Without waiting for an answer, John got up and half-pulled Bobby off the bed. He rooted through his jacket for the car keys, ignoring a volley of anxious questions. Already under the doorframe, he looked back at Bobby.

“You coming with me, or what?”

John drove eastwards, still refusing to answer any questions. He could tell the exact moment Bobby realized they were heading for Ocotillo Wells, his relief was so palpable.

 

The countryside was dark, deserted. John breathed a sigh of relief as his senses told him that there were no wayward campers nearby. Around them the desert stretched for miles and miles, sand and rocks and dry, bristly plants so withered they looked dead. The perfect place for off-road bikers and people wanting to exercise their secret mutant powers. They had come here before to hang out and see how fire creatures fared against ice sculptures. Today John needed more, though.  
He parked on the side of the road and flicked his lighter, creating a fireball big enough to illuminated the sandy slope he was climbing. Bobby was scrambling after him, cursing under his breath as he slipped time and again. Finally he turned and drew his flames into his hands. Bobby was a few feet away, eyes wide, uncertain.

“Fight me.”

“W-what?!”

Bobby was all but squeaking.

“Not for real. I need to blow off some steam and so do you. I can tell, you’re doing that thing with your lower lip.”

“But-“

“No buts Just think of it as the Danger Room with more danger. Now sling ice at me, bitch.”

But Bobby wasn’t fast enough, so John threw fire instead, happily watching it close in around the other boy. Fuck, it was good, so much fire, more than he’d had in a long time and he’d almost forgotten how _good_ it was. His heart was beating faster, in time with the flickering light. Bobby was fighting back now, causing a low crackling in the air as he turned into his ice form, only this time John was prepared for it. Tongue caught between his front teeth, he concentrated on heating the air and ground around them until he felt like he was breathing liquid fire.  
In the end they collapsed within feet of each other, surrounded by a circle of scorched, muddy earth. There was still fire, a constant drum in the back of his head. John winced as Bobby reached for his hand. His own body temperature had spiked when he had drawn some of the flames back into himself and with Bobby only just out of his ice form, it almost hurt to touch. Fuck, he needed to get them home before the energy high wore off.  
They staggered to their feet, laughing at how dizzy they were. And, ooh, apparently this whole icing and de-icing deal had an interesting effect on clothes, namely destroying them. On the way home he told a stunned Bobby how Mystique used to serve him microwave meals looking like Martha Stewart and about the time he and Magneto had watched MTV together to “understand the forces that shape today’s youth,” like ten minutes of The Real World weren’t enough to convince anyone that it was time for a new world order.

Thank God it was in the middle of the night, so getting Bobby up into their room wasn’t a problem. Once John got a good look at him, though, all bets were off. It was too funny. Bobby was _dirty_ , covered in soot and dust and whatever wildlife had come within ten feet of him.  
Since trial and error had proven their bathroom too small for anything else, they took their showers separately. By the time John had finished his, he fully expected Bobby to be fast asleep. He should have known better. The moment he slid beneath the sheets, cool hands were all over him, touching, _needing_. John let himself be pulled down and kissed. Ice had never been much comfort to Bobby, but there were other things that were. Apparently today’s choice was skin contact and slow, damp kisses. John twisted, trying to move closer and maybe get some friction. It was good, but so not enough. Bobby seemed to think so as well, because he was reaching down and lining up their cocks, and wrapping his hand around both of them. And, yesss, that was more like it. Bobby’s tongue was thrusting into his mouth, a kiss so much like fucking that John instinctively rolled his hips in response. With a stifled moan he pushed his own hand between their bodies, linking his fingers with Bobby’s to form a tight tunnel.  
It was getting harder to breathe and soon they had to break apart. Bobby’s head fell forward like he was trying to see what they were doing, except that his eyes were screwed tightly shut. As soon as John had caught his breath, his mouth latched onto Bobby’s neck. He nipped and sucked, producing what he hoped would become a spectacular mark. If Kitty came back tomorrow, she’d have something to look at, but fuck if he was going to think about that now.

Bobby was panting, thrusting into their joined hands with abandon. So good. So fucking good to feel Bobby’s cock rub against his own, slick with precum and hot the way it only got just before coming. John tightened his grip just a little.

“God, Johnny…!”

Close, so close, but something was missing. Even as he felt Bobby shudder and come against him, it somehow wasn’t enough. Then Bobby’s teeth sank into his shoulder, sending a jolt straight down to his cock. With a strangled groan, he tensed as orgasm rolled over him.

Bobby seemed to be unable to move, so John turned over and groped for the Kleenex they kept on the bedside table. It wasn’t much, but he managed to get them clean. Cleanish. Clean enough to sleep. The moment he lay back down, his lights went out.

*

By the time John woke, it was mid-morning. He quietly slipped out of bed and threw on some clothes. Making sure he had his keys and some change, he snuck out of the door. Bobby was still fast asleep.  
There was a pay phone just a little down the street. John went straight for it and fumbled a quarter into the slit. He knew the number he dialed by heart. It rang four times before somebody picked up. John took a deep breath.

“This is John Allerdyce. I need to speak to Professor Xavier.”

*

15 minutes later, he was back upstairs. Bobby hadn’t even noticed his absence. He wasn’t sleeping easily though. There was a small frown on his face, an unhappy twist to the corner of his mouth. John reached out and smoothed the wrinkles on Bobby’s forehead. It’d be all right. He’d just have to stay out of trouble and get Bobby to go to college. Nothing easier. It would be all right. It would. John wouldn’t accept any other outcome and Bobby had better watch out, because he wasn’t the only one who could be clingy.  
John lay back down, not quite touching Bobby. As he felt a strong arm come around him, he closed his eyes.


End file.
